I walk towards the white, wood-framed glass double doors, and push them both open as I enter between them. This makes for a more grand entrance. I nod toward the string quartet playing in the corner as I stroll through the entry. People stand around talking with one another over elegant glasses of wine and dainty little hors d'oeuvres. I notice the women in the room have turned their gaze in my direction. Their eyes follow me as I silently pluck a glass of wine from a passing server's plate. I turn on my heel, and observe the evening's festivities from a silent corner as I wait.

Soon, more women make their way over to where I stand, and the idle chatter continues. They all believe me to be Webster 1913, and it's fucking great. I mean, what woman wouldn't want to bed one of the greatest minds of the 20th century? Especially considering how damn sexy I look. Later, as the party winds down, you can bet there are four or five women still clinging to me, and they certainly intend to go home with me for the evening.